Promises Made to a Black Hole
by Moonraker One
Summary: A pokeball for a magnum, white leather for a suit, Team Rocket for the FBI. James has changed a lot in eleven years. But now an assignment, with the reward being Rocket's destruction, may undo him.
1. Chapter 1

Promises Made to a Black Hole  
By Moonraker One

PROLOGUE

The sound of a frenzied footstep thwapping on the puddle of rainwater under a black night sky swiftly found several more behind it. Special Agent Johnson had seldom seen such a fast culprit running from him. In a split second motion he stopped and pulled his gun from its holster. Even a heart-pulsing ka-chuck of the mechanism cocking did not deter the running man. "STOP!" His command fell on deaf ears. One of his companions neared.

"Jim! You'll never make the shot! He's seven hundred yards away!" James ignored his slow moving partner, took an eye blink's time to aim, and squeezed off a single shot. The gun recoiled and a single forty-four caliber bullet rocketed of at nine hundred feet per second. As the lead projectile soared, the criminal prepared to turn behind an alleyway. True to aim, the bullet buried itself in the lower right leg of the man, bringing him flat on his face.

Special Agent James Johnson made the arrest, handcuffing the criminal while kneeling on the man's back to prevent movement. "You are under arrest," he explained. "You have the right to remain silent. Should you waive that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights?" He awaited an angered yes. James glanced at his partner after shoving the criminal into the back of the Ford Crown Victoria. "Well, John, you were saying?

"I'll be damned," John admitted. "You're good at marksmanship."

Later, once the criminal had been turned in at the main office, James sat at his desk and filled out the needed paperwork. Being an FBI agent meant that each bullet fired had to be carefully documented. Even where the shell casing had landed was relevant. He liked the job; it paid well and allowed him to feel as though his efforts accomplished something. His crime fighting now came in contrast to the previous life of James S. Johnson. As an operative of Team Rocket, he worked alongside Jessie Hannigan as one of many field teams. That was eleven years ago. Since leaving the group of islands on which Pokemon lived, he traded crime for justice, white leather with a bright red R for a three piece suit and a badge, and a pokedex and pokeballs for a Cougar .44 Magnum and some handcuffs. His thirty-first birthday was nearing and he recalled the other trade he did, it had been the most satisfying: he traded ignominy and embarrassment, not to mention frequent near electrocutions, for a regular paycheck and a scar from a bullet wound he incurred saving a life, and a medal in response to said act.

The paperwork filed, he sat in the break room with his soda and chips, watching the T.V. Which got basic cable in decent reception a third of the time. He turned the dial on the old clunker of a set until the daily sports news showed on the screen. His one-time adversary, Ash Ketchum prominently displayed. At twenty-five he was one of the youngest Elite Four ever. His status made him just this side of rich and just the other side of famous. In James's old life, the news would have been tragic; now he could sit with a smile and wish the guy the best. He doubted Ash ever thought about him.

"Still reminiscent, eh, Jim?" James looked away from the set to see his relatively new partner John; his old one retired.

"Yeah, I guess," James admitted. "I'm just glad I'm able to make a difference." Such had been his primary reason for joining the agency. John held up his soda and playfully they toasted. "How're you and the missus doing?" He got the typical one word answer from his partner: fine. This one word meant anything from ok to in the shit hole, and he seldom could determine exactly where in that range the truth lay.

"You ever think of going back, Jim? You know; to visit old friends?"

"No." It was a lie. A huge one, it was, at that. All the time he thought of it; he just had his reasons. He was always afraid of what he'd actually say if he found Jessie still worked for the Team Rocket organization. He was always afraid of his true feelings for her. He was just always afraid, period. Truth be told, no other woman had ever been so nice to him. No other woman had been quite as close. If it hadn't been for her, he knew, he'd be turning tricks for older men for money instead of arresting criminals for America's Federal Bureau of Investigation. She helped him salvage the shattered, burnt remnants of his masculinity. He swore to her they'd live together forever. Instead he moved away in the name of moving on. How he would atone for a sin against a woman's heart, he didn't know.

"How come you don't go out, Jim! Go on a date? You're thirty years old! You can't still be hiding from the sexual playground." To this James let out a laugh at the prospect.

"I've BEEN to the sexual playground, John. If I go back it's for one woman."

John faked a smile. "Jessie?"

"I'd only go back to the sexual playground with her."

"She the one that slipped away?"

"She didn't slip away," James revealed, shamefully. "I did."

"Plenty more fish in the sea."

James just stared at him. "I've been saying that to myself for a decade now." He further drained his soda. "So far I haven't caught one yet." The alarm on his watch beeped. "Oh, it's the end of my shift. Gotta go home, watch the tube and feel sorry for myself." Both chuckled.

"See ya Jim." James waved.

On the way out he caught sight of his supervisor. "Hey, Mr. Lucant," he shouted, just loud enough to get his superior's attention. Once communication had been achieved he lowered his tone. "Can I go yet?"

His supervisor motioned for him to come into his office. "Before you do, I wanna give you a briefing on your next assignment, Agent Johnson." Clearing his throat, James took a seat across from the desk.

"Sir?"

"Michael Lucant began his monologue. "James," he spoke, "we both know your...previous work history,"

James uncharacteristically interrupted. "Sir, Team Rocket is a part of my past. Can't we just leave it there?"

"If only, James. If only." Michael cleared his throat. Before continuing, he hastily examined himself in the mirror-like silver colored coffee mug. Fifty-six and slightly bald, even more slightly overweight he looked slightly weather beaten by time and the years that plagued his flesh. Then he continued. "There is a company in Japan known as Similatac Electronics, with long-rumored and supposedly deep-running ties with the Team Rocket organization that we, unfortunately, have never been able to prove. I recently got word the company had purchased a large island off the coast of China where the largest Pokemon tournament/convention ever will be held. Seventeen thousand trainers, some gym leaders, and even the Elite Four will be competing. During the three-month festival, scientific research will be conducted on the battles. We have received unofficial claims from a reliable spy that Team Rocket will be present. This is where you come in."

"I'm going undercover?"

"Bingo." James swallowed; such a trip down memory lane he didn't want. "James, you will be inserted into their secret HQ and be, hopefully, put on that island where you are to gather evidence of illegal activity." He handed James a series of papers, with more info. "If you are successful, James, the U.S. Government may have enough inside intel to finally bring the legal system down on Team Rocket and Similatac like a ton of bricks."

James had major misgivings. But still he liked the opportunity to destroy Team Rocket once and for all.


	2. Chapter 2

Promises Made to a Black Hole  
By Moonraker One

CHAPTER ONE

Three different checkpoints saw more than fifteen thousand people the first day of the convention/tournament on the private island purchased by Similatac. Garbed in full Team Rocket regalia, James Johnson had prepared himself for undercover work within the organization that had given him most of his teenage year angst. When a servant of the Team Rocket brass approached him, the former field operative displayed his fake identification and paperwork. When the middleman checked the computer a digital information file, cooked up by the tech guys at the FBI main headquarters, of course, would appear on the screen. It played out exactly as planned, without problem, and two separate lieutenants escorted James away from the rest of the crowd of people.

"James, it's good to have you back," one lieutenant greeted. "Giovanni has had us working on the latest project. We can't tell you more than that, of course, but you can be of much importance to us." He had seven different concerns on his mind, each one related to the project that had been under construction for quite a long time now. An operative quite as legendary within the Rocket organization as James always proved to be a time for pride, even if he had a long failure streak after meeting up with Ash Ketchum for the first time.

"It's good to see that things haven't gone completely to hell in my absence," James joked. Part of his instructions on the way to the island were to gather as much incriminating data as possible from what could be accessed. And as to what couldn't, he had been given a number of secret tools to make his espionage into their systems as stealthy as possible. Several more searches and a lot more paperwork involved and he found himself amongst his former comrades. The irony made him laugh; more than a decade ago, he'd be happily working amongst them on the latest plot for more power and conquest. Now he was their enemy and couldn't let them know it.

Moving as one agent in a wave of white leathered field soldiers, he searched every head in the area for a sign of long red hair. He scanned visually for anything that looked even remotely like it might be his former companion and the only love interest he'd ever had. Nothing resembling Jessie Hannigan did he find. Although depressing in a way, it gave him a sense of hope; perhaps she moved on, left their pathetic history behind like he did and accomplished bigger and better things. Craning his head to the upper right, he saw standing on a well-constructed balcony a familiar sight: Giovanni. The boss he once served and got a meager and unappreciative paycheck from watched with hungry eyes to make sure he saw nothing out of the ordinary occurring. The very same eyes came in momentary contact with James's. Although no expression changed on either face, more than a billion words were exchanged in the single solitary glance. The aging Rocket director seemed to have aged not at all in the eleven years since James last saw him in person; Giovanni thought James had grown to look more mature.

_I sincerely hope you've changed in ways less superficial,_ Giovanni hoped, thinking back to how useless James and his teammate Jessie had proved to be in the past. They easily got the highest failure record in the history of the illegal organization. _But then again, I have much hope for our project, and you, James, may play a bigger part in this than even you can comprehend._

Once the disguised FBI agent managed his way to the end of the wave of field operatives and other scientists and analysts hired by the organization, he found himself handed a folder by yet another Team Rocket lieutenant. "James, this folder contains the information you will need to know to be of utmost use to this organization, especially Mr. Giovanni himself. You will be issued a small apartment in which you will sleep and eat in between days of work. Do you understand?" James nodded. "Good. Here is your apartment number. It will be opened by your fingerprint scan. Your part in the project begins tomorrow."

The short walk to the apartment complex where he'd be staying in until his part in the project became clearer to him did his mind some good. He found his room on the sixth floor in room seven A. The two room apartment with a kitchen and a bathroom suited him well considering his task at hand. His white leather outfit he slid out of and threw them on the bed to be dealt with later. Stepping into the bathroom and into the elegant shower he removed his boxer shorts and tossed them to the bathroom's exit. The hot water soothed his body from the long flight he'd undergone earlier, and the steam made the air seem lighter which eased his mind. Thoughts and memories—many of which he did not want—had been flooding through his mind the entire morning. He scarcely thought of anything except the negative times he'd had with Team Rocket.

He washed his navy blue hair and stared into the streaming water. How the mostly unbroken streams danced downwards to the shower floor and then shattered reminded him of his tumultuous love life. Jessie Elizabeth Hannigan had been his partner in crime and his only love interest. Her expansive, fiery red hair streaked right and left when she walked, and her gentle beauty contrasted with her burning passion for life. She had a commanding attitude, a take-charge method of living which had guided her through good times and bad and provided him the spark that he needed to pull himself out of the shithole his life had become. Questioning his sexuality and being confused as to what he really wanted almost did him in. His late teenage years were hell for him, despite the fact that he was well-off. The first time they made love saved him from what he could have become. He always believed that he owed his life to Jessie, and in its own way, it wasn't a lie.

_But I'm the one to blame,_ he thought. _I should've stayed with her and loved her desperately. I should've asked her to marry me. Instead I blew it, just like always._ He remembered that day well. She warned him not to go to America, for it might do him wonders for his career aspirations but it would kill their relationship. He assured her that he'd keep in touch. He guaranteed her that their love would last, would survive anything. Instead, the inevitable happened. Routines and career goals murdered their greatest gift to one another. She probably detested him for the remainder of his life after that, and the thought of her giving up on him ate away at his soul.

"May God forgive me," he whispered to himself, toweling off. "Because I know she won't."

Dressed only in a new pair of boxer shorts, he lay back on the bed with his feet dangling off the edge. His gun—a Rocket issue Baretta that had become standard equipment for field operatives a few years prior—he stared at while contemplating his latest assignment. He put the barrel to his right temple and pulled the trigger, the unloaded gun clicking adamantly, symbolic of the mood of his life; empty. He sighed and tossed it on the floor to the right of him. _I just want this damn assignment to end._

His first day and he already couldn't stand the undercover work.


	3. Chapter 3

Promises Made to a Black Hole  
by Moonraker One

CHAPTER TWO

James had the most meetings with elite four trainer Ash Ketchum, and as such he had been assigned to the stadium to record data about the fights that took place involving his former adversary. Certain operatives had been picked for their history with certain trainers. The undercover FBI agent did not like the deception, but did his job as requested and recorded the battle history, making sure to input the readings on several devices he'd been given.

The first device was an electropokemeter, a device specifically designed to analyze the amplitude and frequency of energy emissions from pokemon. A team of scientists had more specialized equipment, and their readings were much more accurate, but James's task was to combine the data readouts with a play by play history of how each battle went. He sat, disguised, in a bleacher high enough where he could see the battle, but Ash could not see him. A laptop connected to a portable power source sat on his lap, and he typed away at the word processor screen. The second device, an audio cassette recorder, connected via a wire to a headset microphone for him to record vocally the battle. He had a third device, but this had not been assigned to him by the Rocket organization.

Sweating mildly, he waited for the cameras and the higher order Rocket operatives overseeing the entire stadium for any sign of any bizarre activity—specifically from their own subordinates like James—to synchronously look away from him. When the opportunity arose (he doubted it would be for more than a second), he zipped his hand to the bottom of his shoe as fast as his reflexes could allow, and pulled a USB flash drive from inside his sole. The small piece of plastic had two tiny switches on it. He inserted the drive into the stealthiest port he could find, and flipped the first switch. This activated the drive's battery, which gave the inner chip enough power to send data to the computer, but did not allow electricity from the p.c.'s port through, which would have caused it to recognize the drive and the network security to instantly be alerted. While the virus crept through the laptop's hard drive to the wireless card to the network's main server, he casually typed away while vocalizing the battle to the tape recorder. Looking up he saw the higher order operatives looking at him. They lost interest and glanced away again. Although only for a moment, their distraction gave him time to implement part two of his plan.

The battle concluding, he flipped the second switch on the flash drive, which caused the battery to overload the circuit inside the drive, sending a small burst of electromagnetic pulse through the laptop, frying all its circuitry instantly and rendering it useless. That same instant he removed the drive and replaced it into his shoe. He cleared his throat, and shouted an obscenity at the non-working laptop, which sent security running.

"James? What happened?" the lieutenant asked, a look of false concern concealing his distrust.

"T...the damn computer just fucking fried!" James lied to him. "No warning, no smoke, just...bam! Barbecue!"

The lieutenant shook his head. "Dammit. Well, anyway, let's take you back in to write an accident report." He looked around at the concerned spectators. "Sorry, ladies and gentlemen! Nothing much here, just a minor problem! You can go back to the sporting event now." As the next battle started (after Ash effectively destroyed his opponent), the event returned quickly to the state of normalcy it had before.

James walked smoothly as he forced himself to calm down from the stealthy act he'd just pulled off. The virus quietly disabled the area of the security matrix which would've kept him out, while giving any diagnostic program the idea that the matrix remained completely intact. The destruction of the laptop permanently eliminated any possibility that a network scanner program would extrapolate the source of the virus. He remembered his next course of action as they walked together to the information desk to file an accident report.

"Miss Kelva? James here had a laptop malfunction and needs to file an accident report," the lieutenant explained.

The desk lady handed the undercover agent a form and he filed it properly, then headed to the nearest information room. He had more work to do yet.

Entering the office-like setting filled with computer terminals, he found the empty one in the back left corner. The room had three security cameras and the farthest one was the only one who did not have a camera always on it. He waited for the thirty second gap that his terminal had no one watching it, then coughed to hide the sound of a pc card from his pants leg being inserted into the slot. For the next six minutes while the cameras went in their circular viewing range, he typed away, copying files invisibly to the card. Since he had no time to look at the files, he merely copied blindly. Upon the next opportunity, he coughed again to hide the sound of him removing the card. He placed it back in his pants leg. Noticing a rocket operative heading into the room to look for a terminal, he stood up. "Oh, sir? You can use this terminal. I'm done with it." The operative smiled and sat down as James headed onward.

"James," a lieutenant ordered, "you now need to tail Ash Ketchum while he's resting in between battles."

James gave a salute. "Yes, sir!" Walking away from his superior, he picked up his cellphone, and dialed a memorized number. "Hello, is this Pizza World?" _This is James, can you hear me?_

A woman answered her cell phone. "Pizza World here, would you like to hear the menu?" _James, this is Agent Marten. Do you need me to secure the line?_

"Yes, I'd like to hear the menu." _I'm not secure. Please do so._

She coughed. "Well, there's stuffed crust, available in large, medium, and small, and also there's thin crust, available only in small." _If you have data information, we can meet in either location alpha, beta, or gamma. If you only have non-data information, meet in gamma location._

He interrupted her. "I'll have the stuffed crust, and I need large." _I have data to give you, location alpha seems most secure and would cause the least suspicion._

"How hungry are you?" _How much danger are you in?"_

"Very hungry, and I'll pick it up when it's done." _Not in a lot of danger, I have a lot of room to work with._

"We'll have your order in twenty minutes. If you show up late, it might be cold." _Be at the meeting site in twenty minutes. If you're late, you're assumed dead._

"Thank you." He hung up, and walked towards the meeting site.


	4. Chapter 4

Promises Made to a Black Hole

by Moonraker One

CHAPTER THREE

James, garbed in full Rocket regalia, crept stealthily through the various surveillance-free pathways he'd been shown from reconnaissance work. Six different pathways led him through brush and undergrowth, where devoted lookouts were not posted. Almost ten minutes did it take him to guide his way as quietly as possible. He would've been there sooner, but he almost found himself making too much noise twice. Sure enough, there was a lone undercover operative waiting at the meeting site.

"Nice day for a walk," the man uttered, making sure not to look up. _Good to see you've arrived in one piece, James_,was what he said in code.

"How's your rugby skills lately?" James replied in a phony interested tone. _So, are you guys still undetected?_

"Oh, I'm still playing as good as ever, can't complain." _Our agents still haven't been discovered._

James quickly reached in his right pants pocket and produced a greeting card. "I got your mother a birthday card." _Here's the data; it's on the PC card._

"My mother'll like that," the man said, walking off. _I'll make sure to get it to HQ._ James and the agent separated.

James stealthily made his way back to the base, then utilized his Rocket identification to find the private hotel room of Ash Ketchum, his assigned target. His mission had been simple: insert two covert devices into Ash's presence. One was to be a hidden camera installed in his room, and the other was to be a telephone wire tap. The blue-haired operative entered the dressing room. He quickly stripped completely naked.

His first order was to put on a pair of specialized underwear; he cringed as he lifted the special undergarments up to his pelvis. A rather bizarre looking black pair of modified spandex shorts these were, and he took hold of the pull string and gave it a fair yank. Immediately he clenched his teeth to avoid screeching in pain; the purpose of the underwear was to compress the male sex organs to fool a crotch grab test for gender. He covered them with silky panties. Gently, he then slid a pair of inflatable breasts over his head and centered them on his scrawny chest, inflating them to a suitable size. He put on makeup and a blonde wig, and completed his disguise with a maid's uniform. His final instrument was to apply a voice modification patch to his Adam's Apple and cover it with fake skin.

"Housekeeping!" James said, his voice sounding like a mid-forties Caucasian housewife. "Good; it works," he uttered. "Beats long-ass voice training." He gathered his doctored identification and made his way to the hotel.

"Ash!" a voice cried out from the bathroom of a deluxe suite. "Don't you have a break from matches?" Misty looked out from the bathroom, her mouth still covered in toothpaste.

"Honey," he replied, "I'll be off after this round; I got a strong opponent to deal with." He gathered his pokedex and pokeballs, Pikachu leaping onto his shoulder, and he was off.

Before he made it out the door, a gentle rapping sound echoed. "Housekeeping! Does your room need cleaning?" a voice cried out.

Ash opened the door. "Oh, uh, well, I didn't call for it, but the beds could use some help." He looked to Misty. "Are you coming yet?"

Misty cleaned her mouth of toothpaste and gathered her belongings. "Coming!"

James waited for them to clear the hotel room and for the sounds of their walking to fade into the distance. Then he locked the door and reached underneath his uniform. A perfectly normal makeup case opened to reveal two bugs, and a series of small screwdrivers. He got on a chair and removed the cover of the smoke detector and attached the camera in a secure place, then replaced the lid. Carefully he opened the receiver of the phone and wired the bug into the microphone. After repairing the phone, he pulled a remote handheld from his pocket and made sure the camera and telephone bug worked. Then he made the room up nicely and left.

James sat on the bench in the break room for Rocket operatives after returning to base and getting back into his uniform. _Soon enough,_ he thought to himself. _Soon enough and this organization will be gone forever._ He scratched his head. _A dark chapter in my life I'll be over._ He took a drink of the soda in his hand. A familiar face walked in: one of Giovanni's sons.

"Tell me something, James," he said, fiddling with his suit. "Why weren't you this helpful the last time you worked for us?"

James looked at him. "Sir, can't you admit that I might have done a little bit of training since then?"

The chortle coming out of his "superior's" mouth gave him the opportunity to convey a false sense of pride. He waited for just the right moment in his superior's speaking to interject him with some comment that he didn't truly feel. The son of his old boss began talking about hearing about James's old service record in old stories from the elder Giovanni, and the FBI agent flipped his blue hair out of his eyes—a conversational trick—then cleared his throat. "Sir, my old service record is not something that I'm proud of," he predictably fired back, "but I believe that the organization can benefit from some old agents like me who came back. After all," he took a sip of his soda, another trick of conversation, "I've been here when your dad was still in primary control of everything." He pretended to sit up a bit and scratch his ass while he actually clicked on a button on his watch. A micro-data device in his watch recorded speech. "Besides, this big new plan, using the best equipment from that electronics corporation, will make us a superpower."

"You have no idea, James," the arrogant heir boasted. "Similatac provided us with H6 deluxe energy transducers so that we can modify large scale energies of the planet. I can't tell you much more than that, but you should feel privileged; you're hearing top secret info. Don't tell," he clicked an imaginary finger gun at James, "or I'll have to have you killed."

James waved. "Never, sir."

The heir to Giovanni began walking away. "Now don't be lazy for long." As he left, James went back to his few moments of respite by clicking off his watch recorder and finishing the last of his soda. He skillfully tossed it into the waste basket and thought of his mission and how complicated his life had become. However, he wouldn't be allotted very much time to think, however, as the very next thing to pop into his field of vision very nearly stopped his heart from beating.

As he stared at the torrent of hair, cascading down in a very predictable stream from the root, he swallowed hard, in a desperate attempt to calm the storm brewing inside his chest, pounding viciously against his ribs, threatening to explode from his body like a cavity bomb. He ground his teeth as he struggled against his will to force his jaw muscles working.

"J...J..." His mouth finally gave. He didn't know how he spoke, or what he said, for his mind was firing thousands of thoughts at once. He could scarcely comprehend the sight before him. Fear had taken over, and suddenly his gun seemed like a viable alternative to having to deal with his current situation.

"Jessie?"


	5. Chapter 5

Promises Made to a Black Hole  
by Moonraker One

A/N: I'm terribly sorry for the horrible lack of an update, but I've gone through moving twice and had several important things to do.

CHAPTER FOUR

For what had to be the first time in James's life, he wished he had the ability to teleport. He doubted that he'd be able to maintain his sanity in the current situation, what with seeing the sight in front of him. Initially his irrational self tried to convince him that the sight he saw was merely an illusion, until his common sense kicked back in. As sweat beaded on his skin—which he felt as though he would jump out of—he swallowed hard and attempted to breathe normally, but found the effort to be draining. Furthermore, the look on Jessie's face did not resemble anything positive. She stared at him with a quasi-angry expression, with an aura of violence hiding behind it (which may or may not have been merely his pessimism).

"Well, James," she started. Those two words lingered in the air for what seemed to be an eternity. She scratched her head a moment, and he felt as though she would very soon destroy him with one of her famous tantrums. "I guess it's not surprising seeing you back here."

"I..." he uttered, his voice failing him miserably. "I try to do my best, you know that, Jessie..." Immediately underneath his nervousness of the present situation, he found himself mystified that he managed such a complete and coherent sentence.

Jessie mulled his statement in her mind a bit, then burst out laughing. "Your _best_?...! Team Rocket is your _best_?" she sat down and drank her soda, chortling the entire time. "Your career choice must have fallen through if you're back with this organization." She looked at the floor, shaking her head a bit. James sat down, and held his head, feeling defeated. She was right; his career, though flourishing, was just a crutch he leaned on to avoid dealing with the current situation.

She glanced up at him, his defeated mood seemed to remind her of the past, of pleasant memories that she incurred while their romance still burned with a legendary fire. "But still," she smiled. "I still think it's great to see you."

He lifted his head; seeing her with that lovely smile killed his nervousness and warmed his spirit. "Jessie, I know I should've stayed with you..."

She interrupted him the way she always used to, shaking her head. "No, James, I'd never ask that of you. You have your own life to live and your own choices to make; who am I to be mad at you for doing what's best for you?" Her words, while nice, had the opposing effect she desired and gave him a guilt trip.

"Jessie, it's just that...well...there's this old saying: 'When someone makes you a promise and goes to hell if need be to fulfill it, that's making a promise to a star. Stars burn brightly like a beacon. But if someone promises you and breaks it, that's making a promise to a black hole; black holes destroy anything they come near.' That's what I feel like I did."

His abnormal and uncharacteristic display of wisdom confused her; where had the awkward, extremely comically dense James gone to? And who was this mature, poetic man with common sense that had taken his place? "James...I...I don't think you should feel that way." Silently, she cursed herself for being unable to think of a better thing to say. Him feeling guilty about things he might have done to her made her feel guilty for placing such a burden on him. She stood up and approached him. She gently caressed the side of his face. "Don't worry about it."

Her hand on his cheek made his mind melt away. He felt as though he had just taken a hit of some drug. He didn't want to leave this moment despite knowing he had to. He felt heaven in her touch. "I love you, Jessie."

"Don't say that now. Let's do something after hours and then you can tell me." She left the break room. He hated her teasing; he'd felt it so many times in the past that it almost bothered him. But, knowing he had been forced into a date told him he would feel great shortly thereafter. He reminded himself of his own priorities, and left the break room as well.

His next task, as assigned by a higher-up lieutenant, was to go to the video room and get the feed from Ash Ketchum's room properly organized in the computer's memory banks. The Rocket organization kept tabs on every trainer here, but especially important people like members of the elite four. Taking a cd from his pocket and placing it into a jewel case, he took the original disc out of it and dropped it into a nearby incinerator. The tech people back at the agency base had cooked up a modified video code list, which would do the job of organizing Ash's surveillance video, but would also transmit (secretly), the construction footage of the technology Similatac provided to Team Rocket, to the bureau.

"I'm here to provide these video codes to the computer," James said to the technician. He presented the compact disc. The technician gave a phony smile and put it into the drive. The blue-haired undercover agent silently prayed as the codes reset the video feeds into a different order. When it went down without a hitch, he breathed a sigh of relief, took the disc, and moved on. He went to an incinerator and dropped it in.

The evidence he gathered would help bring down the organization that had caused him so much grief when he was younger. The fact that he was helping to undermine a dark piece of history gave him the drive he needed to put himself at risk so often and for a pay check of forty-five thousand a year.

"The winner of round four's battle of the elites," a voice yelled from a monitor, "is Ash Ketchum!"

James regarded the monitor with boredom. _As if that's a surprise_, he thought to himself. After all, the guy had handed Rocket a majority of their failures in the past. He moved on to his private quarters. He, being promoted past admin to a lower lieutenant, had a better room than a common grunt, and had less responsibility. His room was not bugged like some of the others were; he even did a search himself to ensure it. He ate his lunch and gathered together all of his undercover materials, making sure to hid them where he knew they would not be found. He made sure all the appropriate work he needed to do that day for the organization itself was finished before he went off duty.

He picked up his cell phone, and as he walked out of the disguised Rocket base, he dialed a different memorized number. "Hello, this is James Johnson, is this Central Dry Cleaning?" _James reporting, do you guys hear me?_

"Yes, this is Central Dry Cleaning, Mister Johnson, are you in need of business?" _Do you have any new data?_

"I'm just checking on my shirt." _I'm just making sure the video transmission went through undetected._

"Your shirt is doing fine, we managed to get it clean, but need more time."_It went through fine, just get more data._

"Thank you." He hung up.

His next order of business would be to do something he hadn't done in many years; to go on a date with the girl he loved. If his ability to predict had gotten any better since he last saw her, then he knew exactly where she would be meeting him at. He walked from the base to the main city on the island. From memory he recognized each restaurant where the Rocket grunts would go to eat at. He looked down the block to the one he knew they didn't go to, because it was out of their transmission range for their wire taps. Jessie certainly knew these things, because she had worked for Rocket long enough to know the technology's restrictions. As he stepped into the restaurant, his prediction had come true.

"Fancy meeting you here," he replied, sitting down.

She grinned. "How'd you know I'd be here?"

He smiled. "Do you think I'd want Rocket grunts watching us while we eat?" he asked, taking a glance around just to make sure. He leaned across the table and kissed her.

"James, I'm sorry for the confusion earlier," she apologized.

"No, I think it had to happen. I've thought about you for the longest time, Jessie." He repositioned his silverware. "I remember how you warned me what would happen if I left. I should've listened."

She sheepishly looked down a moment. "You're right James, I was angry at you. But you need to realize something; I could never stop caring about you."

He blinked a moment, taking it in. She very well could have just crushed his mind, but even he didn't know. He analyzed the statement over and over again, but it seemed only to reaffirm his confusion. How could she continue to love him, despite his violating her trust and breaking her heart? He thought of only one thing to say.

"Jessie, I...I love you."

The waiter arrived and about fifteen minutes thereafter, the food. They ate, but mostly they just reminisced about old times, talking about the past, memories, and all their adventures. All the while James found himself astonished that, after all these years, he still saw the same in Jessie that he did when they first were paired together, all those years ago. Jessie, on the other hand, mostly wondered what had caused the clumsy, mostly oblivious James to become such a mature, systematic individual.

After the meal, they walked around the island a bit, sitting on a grassy, inclined hill quite a ways above the beach far forward. They stared at the stars together while wrapped in each others arms. "It's just like old times, isn't it James?"

He stared into her eyes. "As if we've never been separated."

She shifted her head. "I need to ask you, what field did you go into while away in America? It's been bugging me the whole time, because before you weren't this...skilled."

He broke out of the cuddle just for a few minutes. Taking several blades of grass, he formed the letters "FBI" in the palms of his hands.

Jessie almost leaped in amazement. "You can't be serious!"

"Shhh!" he whispered, drawing close to her ear. "I'm not supposed to be telling you, but I trust you."

Jessie drew back and suspiciously mouthed, "You're here to do what I think, aren't you?"

He nodded.

Suddenly, she got very upset. "Oh, I get it now. If you weren't...doing that...you'd never have come back, and I'd still be alone!" She stood up, started to cry, and began storming off. "You prick! I thought you came back for me!"

"Jessie, wait!" he cried. Dear God, he prayed, don't let her walk away. Don't let her walk away. He grabbed her hand, and she quickly pulled it away.

"Don't touch me! I thought you were different!"

He took an extremely dangerous risk: he got in front of her and wrapped his arms around her. "Jessie, PLEASE listen to me. The reason I didn't want to come back, was because one, I didn't think you'd still work for Rocket, and two, I was scared shitless you'd do what you're doing now, and that's hate me. I wasn't expecting you here, and as soon as this is done, I was going to find you anway! Please, you have to believe me!"

His words seemed to have the desired effect, as her tears and anger seemed to subside. She then started bawling again, and drew in to lean her head against his chest. "Oh, James, I'm so sorry! I've just been alone for so long!"

He rested his face in her hair. "There's nothing to worry about, Jessie. Nothing's going to separate us again."

That night, an old fire found itself rekindled, possibly brighter than ever. With renewed emotion, the two made love in a way that seemed like time itself would stop just for a single love. Jessie knew, in her heart, that she had finally found, once again, something she thought lost forever. James had achieved something many men search for, but few find, and this time, he'd let nothing get in the way.


	6. Chapter 6

Promises Made to a Black Hole

by Moonraker One

CHAPTER FIVE

James felt a way he hadn't felt in the longest time.

The last decade, it seemed, had gone away. He was eighteen again and the duo of Jessie and him were tearing away at the world, their own, personal mission being to prove everyone else wrong. He'd moved away to the United States and taken a job in law enforcement as sort of a way of making up for past mistakes. Mentally, he knew he could never make up for the snafu that was leaving Jessie behind, so he tried to compensate by putting criminals behind bars. When he first took this assignment, he believed that putting Rocket away forever would be the thing that would allow him to get over his past. However, now that he'd reconciled with the girl he loved, and proved himself to her in the way he always wanted to, he believed he could finally move on as an individual.

Taking down Rocket now meant something even more important to him. Now it meant that the cloud which hung over the two of them could be lifted once and for all. Now, their past history wouldn't matter anymore; what good would the criminal records be, without the organization to tie it to? They could be free at last, he thought. He just had to get the last pieces of information and the evidence would be sufficient to bring the law enforcement agencies of the world down upon both Similatac and Rocket.

He had a hidden camera inside of his blue mass of hair, and he focused it before leaving his bathroom. He would, on this day, video tape Rocket performing experiments on Pokemon that belonged to the trainers taking part in the tournament. There were multiple fake Nurse Joy's, and he knew they would approach the trainers and offer the services of Pokemon Center, but in fact were taking them to the exam room. He knew the Pokemon were returned to their masters without complaining of mistreatment, but how was the major question. Surely being experimented on would cause the creatures to raise a ruckus about it, leading to questions from the trainers.

Stepping into the room sectioned off, even from the usual Rocket grunts, James was quickly retina scanned and fingerprint scanned before being allowed into the chamber. Inside were Pokemon of all types and breeds. They were in cages of varying degree. Computer equipment stood that he had never seen before, even ones that had transmitting towers on them. He looked all around, allowing the camera to take it all in.

"Tactile response experiment number 15!" cried a scientist, and all others put on specially modified hardhats. James was given one, but he put it on at a weird angle so as not to block the camera. Suddenly, a low vibrating noise came from one of the transmitting towers on the computer equipment. All the Pokemon in the cages suddenly stood up (some of them weren't capable of standing up in the traditional sense, due to the physical arrangement of their limbs, but instead did a motion similar to it) and began swaying left and right in a very specific manner. The uniformity of the swaying told James that this was some kind of either mind or body control technique being used. It was in the middle of video taping he suddenly took notice of something.

Without thinking, he uttered, "You!" when his eyes came across a familiar yellow furball. The Pikachu in cage number eight, was a sight he would never forget. It was the same rat that belonged to the twerp. The same rat, it was, who had given Jessie and him a number of defeats. He bore it no ill will—especially after all this time—but he'd never forget it's appearance. What happened next, he could not have predicted.

A split second after his utterance, the Pikachu broke out of its trance, and looked at James specifically. Taking notice of the appearance of James caused it to then yell its name very loudly, and attempt a thunderbolt. It had the mannerisms of a being that suddenly woke up in a strange place without knowing where it was. Seeing this, one of the scientists screamed, "CUT IT NOW! CUT THE CIRCUIT!" This shout inspired one of the others to throw a switch, separating the cage from the other cages, which were all connected electrically. Thus, the bolt was contained. The same scientist then yelled, "PARALYZE IT!" This caused another to lift a device shaped like a pen to the face of the angry Pikachu, and press a button. A bright red flash emitted, and then the rat was calm again.

"What the hell happened?!" Giovanni shouted, emerging like a shadowy mass of locusts from behind a dark tinted room.

"I don't know, sir," a scientist yelled. "Apparently seeing James shocked this Pikachu."

"Ah, I can understand that, because James has a personal history with this thing." He then shot James an angry look. "No matter. James, you are reassigned. We can't have these outbursts again."

"Yes sir," James agreed, leaving. He grinned as the door shut. He didn't need to see any more. He'd videotaped enough. Apparently Team Rocket was working with Similatac to create devices that control Pokemon's actions remotely. He gave Giovanni credit; it might not be the world's most innovative idea, but it certainly would be more efficient than capturing Pokemon from trainers and re-training them to serve you. Such methods, despite their position as the standard practice, possessed a significant amount of inefficiency in comparison to the less honorable means.

Strolling down the halls, making sure none followed him, he pressed a button on his watch, and in a few seconds, received a phone call on his cell. Lifting it to his ear, he delivered the news. "I think I've got enough information to bury them this time," he said, in code.

"Let's go with the different meeting place this time," the agent spoke in the same code.

James hung up quickly, swiftly sliding out of the common crowd and onto a pathway through back alleys leading several miles while twisting, until meeting a hotel's rear alley. He remembered the hidden spot for the note, and slid open the slot in a dumpster, and lifted a piece of tape and looked at it. It had a small scrap of paper, which read, "The second side is plus one." He knew, based on what he'd been briefed on, where to go from there. He swiftly and silently moved towards the location.

"I've got what you're looking for," he uttered in code, but when he got no response as he approached the corner, he knew something was wrong. He drew his gun, and stepped around the corner. His strong will saved him from vomiting. Six corpses lay around him. "DAMMIT!" he shouted, trying to contain the storm of emotions. Initially, fear gripped him. Someone in the Rocket organization had conducted this hit! There could be no other answer! And if they knew of him being an FBI agent, his dear Jessie...oh God! Not her! He slapped himself. _Get a hold of yourself, James. Think this through_. He mentally ordered his mind to slow down. After getting his mind back on track, he thought of his fellow agents. Surely they had hidden video of who had conducted the hit. Thinking of the possibilities of action, he looked to the far front of the group of bodies. He tilted his head so he wouldn't have to disturb the body. It was a female, roughly his age, cause of death immediately identifiable as a bullet through the temple. The hair and face is what caused him to backpedal. _My God! Cassidy?. . .!_ He couldn't believe she was a fellow Rocket traitor. Then again, she must've had the same anger towards them as he did.

Becoming silent, he heard footsteps, so he turned and brandished his gun. That's when he heard at least a dozen more gun clicks. He instinctively dropped his pistol; he was surrounded. "Guys, it's me!"

"We know, sir," one of the junior agents said. "And you're under arrest."

James shook his head. "You can't possibly believe I did this?"

"Sir," another agent said, "we've got video proof you did it."

James whirled around. "What? That's impossi...oh no." A disguise! He had disguised himself as others many times. Surely a rocket grunt disguising himself as James wouldn't be hard.

"Agent Johnson," a familiar voice cried out.

He faced forward, swallowing hard. "Assistant Unit Director Hansen?"

The mid-forties woman, with her long brown hair, her face moderately wrinkled due to her age, and her gun pointed at James, he'd seen only a billion times before. She had been the one who'd shaped him from the young blood into the mature agent he was. Jennifer Elaine Hansen didn't take her eyes off him. She had a mixture of calmness and anger in her eyes. "We're going to investigate all the evidence to see if, like you surely believe, you've been set up. But we can't take any chances. For now, you're under arrest. We'll take your evidence here, thank you." She reached in his pocket. She took his badge, and the transmitting piece along with its camera. "Follow me. You'll be kept incarcerated until further notice. Forgive me if I use international jurisdiction to eschew reading your Miranda rights."

Agents flanked him, with the ones on his sides putting their guns away to avoid attention. The one behind him held his gun under his coat. They walked down a series of back alleys until they started walking down a tunnel moving past a waterway. The temporary base the FBI had set up remained carefully hidden, and it'd be another ten minutes of walking.

"So, ma'am," James small-talked to ease his mind. It wasn't working; he still could barely suppress his anger over the fact that they seriously suspected him. "Who'd you bring to bring _me_ in?"

"Oh, just the regular ones sent out to bring in rogue agents," she replied. "But then again, it isn't like you're officially one yet. If you ARE innocent, we'll find out."

_No you won't,_ he thought. _Rocket is way too efficient for that._ He looked around for any chance of escape. He would've slapped himself if he weren't being led. Escape? What was he going to do? Magically make Giovanni confess to setting him up? That wasn't going to happen. Still, just walking to the cell didn't seem very sane.

No, he knew Rocket too well. Giovanni wasn't about to let something like framing James for murder go ordinarily. He would've pulled out all the stops. There would be no way whatsoever to determine from the minute amount of evidence the FBI had that someone other than the real man in question had done it. The agent walking towards his incarceration knew he was doomed. But perhaps his ridiculous other option wasn't impossible, after all. It would be a huge gamble; if he succeeded, he'd be a free man. If he failed, he'd be executed. What's worse, he figured, Jessie would probably be killed by the Rocket organization for being close to him. That last fact clinched it for him. If he died to bring down the organization, so be it. But be damned if Jessie would go to her grave because of him.

"Hey, guys," James uttered, preparing to seal his fate, "please don't think ill of me." With those words, he kicked backwards, knocking the gun right out of the agent's hands. Turning to his right, he saw an opening leading down further into the drainage tunnels. Not even stopping to think, he leapt for dear life, going down the thin pathway. It was, in fact, a tunnel leading down and he slid the entire way, until he landed in a strange watery substance. No time to think; he jumped out of the water, onto the walkway by it, and bolted down the path as fast as his legs could carry him. The tunnel forked into three pathways, so he turned hastily as he heard footsteps behind him and a shot rang out, barely missing his leg.

"JAMES!" Hansen shouted. "YOU SON OF A BITCH! GET BACK HERE!"

He saw the tunnel end, but he jumped up and grabbed the opening in the grating on the ceiling, twisting his body over itself into the tight space between the grating and the airway above it, slamming the grating shut. He slinked backwards as the agents ran into the dead-end area. _Please don't let them find me,_ he prayed. He sat there an unbearable three whole minutes as they waited for some sound.

"Ah, fuck this. He's probably gone by now," Hansen cried out. "Erickson!"

"Ma'am?" a male agent answered.

"Put out an APB. I want our boy's picture EVERYWHERE."

"But ma'am," a female agent quickly interjected, "that'll alert Rocket that we're here to get them!"

"What makes you think they don't already fucking know?" Hansen screeched, her razor-sharp tongue lashing them like a whip. "James fucked up whatever attempt we had at getting them. The evidence we've got'll get us a permission to search, but they'll have it torn down by then. Let's not end up with the worst of both worlds. Now let's get out of this fucking dump."

James waited until they were out of sight, and hearing distance, and climbed down. He then listened for some kind of footsteps. When he heard none, he moved on. Climbing out of the drainage tunnel wasn't easy, but he managed. Once above, he stealthily moved about until he got to a space between a restaurant and an apartment complex, and sat behind a dumpster, where a large garbage can filled with old dish washing rags a few feet from it concealed him. He took off his jacket and tie, and threw them in the dumpster. Looking less formal would keep him from standing out. He looked at his gun. _Good, it didn't get wet,_ he realized. _Think this through, James. You've got to get into Rocket, find evidence you were set up, AND get evidence that's 100 percent guaranteed to hold up in court that Rocket and Similatac are up to something._ He had a huge task on his hands. _Son of a bitch, what have you gotten yourself into?_


	7. Chapter 7

Promises Made to a Black Hole  
By Moonraker One

CHAPTER SIX

A shovel unearthed a small black trash bag covered in wet clumps of soil. The blue-haired fugitive quietly dropped to the ground and slowly rolled out of sight. He hated the size of the island; even on this beach—where few ventured during the late afternoon—people could still be seen. Despite his knowledge of how long it would take the all-points bulletin of his face to make it all the way around—and on this tiny of an island, it would be fast—he took no chances. No one could be allowed to know exactly of his whereabouts, especially considering he now faced opposition from both sides, with an equal amount to lose either way. He saw a pipe leading out of the green hillside and into the water. Ensuring the bag remain sealed watertight, he dove under the surface of the gently rolling waves and into the opening of the pipe facing downward. As expected, the inside of the metal walls were dry, as the discharge pipe only carried liquid during certain times of day, so he knew he had at least another two hours. Swiftly, he pulled the bag open.

_Ah, my disguise kit and voice patch system_, he recognized. _How many jams you've gotten me out of_. He opened the small briefcase and activated the small PDA. It displayed in front of him the faces of at least forty different people he'd met, mostly women. From his knowledge, he remembered that the least likely to be recognized face was the one that had features of the highest variety of different people. Knowing this, he digitally pieced together a face on-screen using the eyes, ears, nose, and mouth of four different females from his past. The computer then arranged a series of white plastic sections into the bone structure such a face would have. He popped open a tube and removed some putty. Gingerly, and following the PDA's directions, he molded the sub-layers of facial tissue onto the white sub-structure. He then took out a bottle of gel and poured it on top, making sure he rubbed the slow, viscous liquid into the proper skin shape and texture. In about five minutes, it dried into a face mask. He then removed it from the white mannequin, and gently pulled it over his head, covering every inch of his hair. He then used adhesive to affix a strawberry blonde wig to the proper part of the head.

His next action was to create a very feminine voice on his modulator, and affix the chip to his throat underneath the face mask. After that, he ditched the white shirt and suit pants, and even his underwear, and replacing it with a custom pair of panties, pulling the string on the front until the bulge of his genitals flattened, so if someone grabbed his crotch, they'd not suspect him being male. After donning that, he applied his body suit and inflated his fake breasts to a mildly voluptuous size. Then he donned a summer dress, and some panty hose with a gun holster under the skirt. He replaced his gun into the holster and put on some comfortable feminine shoes. His disguise complete, he followed the pipe to an opening, bringing the kit with him.

A worker detached a tank with a label on it from a machine leading into a pipe opposite the one he exited. As quietly as possible, he waited for the man to back up so that James stood immediately posterior to him. He quickly jerked his gun from his right leg's panty hose, and pistol-whipped the man in the back of the head, the victim falling unconscious. It turned out the pipes and machines belonged to a sewage removal plant, which he nimbly managed to sneak out of. To perfect his disguise, he merged with a large crowd on a street several hundred yards away, snatching a flower-pattern purse off a street merchant's table when the man had his back turned. He replaced the disguise kit and vocal device into it. Slightly breaking away from the crowd after a few blocks, he approached a man taking his credit card out of an ATM. He pretended to search for a card in his stolen purse so he could get out of line and into a position to witness the man's PIN. A woman shouted for her sister, and James acted as though he had been summoned to walk to the back of the line. He turned around and slowly walked back. Acting as though he was distracted, he bumped into the man. In that brief moment of contact, reaching into the man's pocket and snatching his wallet. The purse open, he dropped it in, hastily. "Excuse me, my good sir!" he apologized in his fake womanly voice. "I am so clumsy sometimes!"

"Don't worry about it." He left. James had exited his sight by a good distance prior to the man noticing his wallet stolen. James got into a rather private booth where an ATM sat, at least a quarter mile from where he'd stolen the man's wallet. He put in the memorized PIN and withdrew over seven hundred dollars, the maximum the man had. He then snatched the twenties in the wallet and dropped it into a trash can far away, wiping off the fingerprints. His next stop; a pawn shop.

"Hey, ma'am! What can I do for you?" the shop keeper asked, occasionally stealing a glimpse of James's fake cleavage.

James set a third of the money on the table. "I want a box of bullets and a silencer for a nine millimeter police issue Baretta. Don't give me shit about any waiting period, because I know we're on an island away from the United States, even though they have an embassy here."

The man raised his eyebrows momentarily. "You certainly know how to be direct, ma'am." He reached underneath the counter and pulled out a medium-sized box of standard lead slugs for a police issue nine millimeter. He also provided one of three separate silencers, and James pointed to the middle of the three. "Thank you again." James waited until he got a distance away from the crowds and he ducked into an alley, so that he could pull his gun from the handbag and screw on the silencer.

_This'll provide me some security as I make my way into the building_, James thought, loading his magazine and attaching the gun to his hip via the gun holster underneath the skirt of his dress. He took a tape recorder in the handbag and recorded, in his normal voice, "Jessie, I want you to know that the murders of those agents and Cassidy were not me. It was an agent of Rocket disguised as me. You might not want to believe me, but you know me better than anyone; I wouldn't do anything like that. Anyway, once you get this, take the letter of instructions I left with you in case Rocket found out of my purpose here. It's at the secret location." He clicked off the recorder, and deposited the tape into a mail slot with the address.

Walking for at least twenty minutes allowed him to reach the outer level incinerators for the main Rocket building. The only part of the secured compound that didn't have cameras, the incinerators each had two guards, both of which were responsible for emptying trash into the proper furnace. In addition, it had several employees working the inside, none of which saw the guards except when exiting and entering.

Three knocks sounded from the outside of the door to an apartment. A slender, well-built red-haired female answered the door. A early forties-ish woman in a business suit lifted a badge. "Agent Jennifer Hansen, FBI," the senior agent addressed. "Can I discuss a few things with you, Miss Hannigan?" She saw a familiar look of disgust on the Rocket operative. She found it rather interesting that the Rocket operative didn't have her uniform on, but rather, a blue dress.

"Please, come inside," Jessie said, surprising the FBI agent. "I'd like to get this one dealt with as soon as possible."

The agent checked her cell phone. "Okay, so now that I know you're not bugged, we can discuss this freely, Jessie. May I call you Jessie?" She swept the room quickly to see if she'd missed any transmitting devices. She didn't find any, and that made her feel more at ease.

Jessie folded her arms. "Usually, only friends call me 'Jessie,' but I suppose you might as well. You don't have to pretend; I know what you're here to talk about."

Jennifer grinned. "No pulling of punches then," she complimented. "So, I want you to tell me the circumstances you last met James Johnson under. And please, if you will, call me 'Jenny.' It sounds so much less official." She scratched an itch on her forehead. She analyzed the red-haired woman's body language while she listened; it was a habit of the job.

"The last time I met James it was when he revealed to me that he was working for your agency," Jessie explained. "He discussed only the very brief nature of his mission without going into detail." She folded one leg over the other. "And if I know him, he's probably trying to find a way to clear his name."

Hansen raised an eyebrow. "So, in your extensive personal knowledge of James, you don't believe he's trying to protect himself from us by siding with Rocket once more?" She had to assume the worst and prepare for it. The likelihood of James's further betrayal couldn't be higher, considering his background. Every base had to be covered.

Jessie shot her a look. "James is probably going to try to get into the highest levels of Rocket security to gather evidence that proves he was set up." She would have rolled her eyes if she didn't feel like hiding her feelings. How could James work for such a humorless agency? This woman gave off the aura of an interrogator. Jessie had only experienced it too many times; the familiar feeling that the room is colder than it is, and no answer is correct.

Hansen didn't let up. "I _can_ show you the tape that shows him committing the crime, you know." She could estimate, within a ninety-nine percent probability, what the woman's answer would be. Still, she had to ask. This Jessie resisted every effort of intimidation, obviously being interrogated many times prior.

"Jenny," Jessie pushed back, "let's cut the crap. Stop trying to psychoanalyze me. I want Rocket dead as much as you do. You know as well as I do how good Rocket's disguising abilities are. It would be nothing for someone to do a perfect face and hair mask of James. Are you genuinely interested in bringing Rocket down, or are you simply trying to cover your ass with your supervisors back home?"

Hansen slammed her pistol down on the desk. "You are good at this, Jessie. I'm impressed." She leaned in for effort. "I know full well that Rocket is probably setting James up for a fall. I've seen James's unwavering dedication to his teammates back home. But I can't let him easily off the hook. James is on a short timer. He's got to get evidence that would exonerate him right away, because otherwise, I will have to arrest him. And believe me, I WILL arrest him." She leaned back, cupping her hands behind her head. "So, are we going to keep talking? The longer we talk, the more time our friend gets."

Jessie retorted, "He's only a _friend_ to you. He's something much more to me." She stood up. "I'm sorry. I can't conduct this any longer. Would you please leave? I've got...an event to go to." She pointed to the door.

Hansen noticed the envelope left open on a dresser on the other side of the room. "Uh huh. An 'event.' Well, I guess I'll be leaving, and I suppose I'll have to check out the banks to see if he's done any transactions. I don't think I've got tickets to your 'event.' Bye." She left, winking at Jessie. Jessie went over and read the note after the FBI agent had left. She thanked heavens there would be no agents where she'd meet up with James. She also thanked the heavens that the agent was not an enemy of hers.

"Agent Hansen," the subordinate agent said, approaching his supervisor, "do we have any leads?"

"No. She was belligerent and completely unwilling to cooperate," she lied. "Have several of your men check out the local banks. If he is going back into Rocket, he'll be making a bunch of transfers very quickly, to very far away locations."

He saluted. "Ma'am!" and left.

James, in a new disguise as a female member of Team Rocket, stealthily and without looking nervous or exhibiting suspicious behavior, entered one of the highest secured areas of the main Rocket compound. The operative at the door checked his paperwork and allowed him in after receiving a confirmation call from a higher-up. James quickly made his way to a computer console near the back, and with his skills taught to him in the FBI, changed several settings on the computer. _This'll give me a two-minute window of them not being able to see what I'm doing_, he knew. _I'd better make it count_. He began typing, searching for information.

Numerous file folders came up, each with no help whatsoever. As he began to nervously fear that nothing incriminating would be located, he came across two separate sections of a network hard drive that served him well. The first, was a video of a mysterious figure—seen off screen—being lectured by one of Giovanni's primary subordinates, on how to imitate the gestures of James. The lieutenant of Giovanni only mentioned "Travis" as the mysterious figure's name—but at least that would be enough to prove his innocence. James would have celebrated, but he realized his freedom could not be his only goal. He had to bring down the organization of Rocket. This is where the other folder came in. It possessed at least a dozen different financial records of money transfers between Rocket and Similatac, specifically for large orders of what was labeled as "special equipment." Also, there were other files that provided blueprints and technical specifications of devices that modified energy, devices that transmitted energy, it all added up to some Rocket scheme larger than any other. He waited until neither the camera in the room, nor the guards faced his direction, and quickly took a USB drive from his shoe and inserted it into the computer, making sure that the PC did not transmit that it had been installed. Downloading both folders entirely, he took the drive out and, waiting for an opportunity, replaced it into his shoe. He got up.

"Did you find what you were looking for, ma'am?" the guard inquired, as he left the room.

"Yes I did," he replied in his fake voice. From there, it took him fifteen minutes to sneak his way out of the building, using access tunnels that were too far from the building to have cameras. As he walked along, in the tunnel, he removed his wig and replaced it into the container, exchanging it for a green-haired wig. Also, he changed out of his stolen Rocket uniform and into the dress he'd worn earlier. The fake breasts and crotch concealing underwear were a pain—literally—but he had to keep his disguise up. He exited the tunnel and made sure the skirt of his dress concealed his gun.

Walking into an alleyway behind a remote building in the city, he carefully made sure no one looked on, then approached Jessie. "Excuse me ma'am, do you have the time?" He approached closely to avoid being seen moving. Jessie looked at her watch.

"It's late in the evening, James," she acknowledged. She put her hands on her hips. "That is a great disguise. You've taken everything into account. Your appearance, your voice, everything. I'd never know it was you if I didn't know you were the only one who knew to come here straight away." She patted his fake breasts. "They even feel real."

James removed the face mask and hair, then peeled the voice modulation patch off of his throat. "Jessie, thank you so much for not believing in the stuff going around about me killing those agents and Cassidy." He hugged and kissed her. "I knew you'd trust me."

She laughed a bit. "I know you good and well, James. You're not a murderer. Besides, Cassidy was an informant. Quite possibly, the organization had a disguised operative kill her." She smiled; it was so good to be able to be in his presence again. She might have felt a bit angry at first that he'd been gone for so long, but now, she savored any opportunity to be with him once more.

He took the USB drive from his shoe. "Jessie, this has to get to Agent Jennifer Hansen. Once she gets ahold of this, my name will be clear. After that, I'm going into Rocket one last time to force the truth out of Giovanni himself."

Jessie protested. "That's insane! You're going to get killed!"

James patted her on the shoulder. "Jessie, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity to finally eliminate the evil organization once and for all. I don't care what it takes. This has to go down." He kissed her again. "Just let me say this. In case I don't come back alive, I want you to know that I've always loved you."

A tear rolled down her cheek as he headed out. "I love you too, James."


End file.
